


His Scarf

by derekstilinski



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Friendship/Love, M/M, Other, Post Reichenbach, Reichenbach Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:40:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derekstilinski/pseuds/derekstilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John in a hospital room directly after Sherlock's fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Scarf

John sits in a hospital room, feeling numb. The wooziness has worn away, leaving him empty, staring at the cream colored floor. He breathes in and out slowly, manually. He's been checked over, heard people talk of how he was in shock, Lestrade comes in and tries to get him to speak.

"He jumped. Off the building... He killed himself." John had said, looking with dead eyes up at him.

Greg just nodded and patted his shoulder, then left him alone.

After what he guesses is an hour and a half, Molly timidly sticks her head in the door, "John?" He doesn't look up. She sighs and wipes her eyes, coming into the room. She leans down, tending to the small gash above his temple from when he fell like the nurse who checked it earlier isn't competent. She's delicate, her fingers shaking lightly, "How are you feeling?"

He doesn't answer.

She sniffles and hugs him, holding him tight before she lets go and steps back, "Is there a-anything I can do for you?"

"Can I see--"

"That's not a good idea, I'm sorry."

He sits there in silence again, taking that in. Molly waits until he says, "What does he look like?" She shifts uncomfortably, starting to stutter something out when he holds up a hand, "Never mind."

He can still see blurry images of Sherlock laying face down on the sidewalk, blood seeping into the cracks of the stone. Those will be his new nightmares, mixing together with the old ones. Sherlock's voice when he said that their phone call was his note. His suicide note. He remembers every word, and how he didn't want to be hearing it. Sherlock a fake, that he wasn't that clever, his broken laugh when John told him that he was.

He doesn't realize he's been saying this all out loud until Molly sobs quietly, hand over her mouth. He looks up at her then, feeling bad, knowing how much she cared for Sherlock.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, rubbing his temples. She shakes her head and takes a deep, shuddering breath. She pats his hands when they go to rest back on his knees.

"It... It's fine. Talking about it may make it better."

"I didn't mean to talk about it."

They slip into silence again and John refuses to get teary eyed. When she goes to leave, his voice cracks when he speaks up, "M-Molly?"

She turns and looks at him apologetically. He swallows, clears his throat and rolls his shoulders, "Can I... H-His uh, scarf. Can I have his--?"

She's out the door and crying again before he can finish. He takes a few deep breaths to steady himself, trying to block out Sherlock's voice when he told him goodbye.

A part of him wants to go up to the roof, to see where Sherlock spent his final moments, to where he saw the world below him and thought he could never be a part of it again. The other part wants to go away, leave the hospital, leave Baker's Street, say to fuck with Sherlock Holmes, how could he do this to all of us, the arrogant sod. But he remembers that Sherlock called him his friend. His only friend.

_'This is my friend, John Watson'_

_'I'd be lost without my blogger'_

_'Alright? Are you alright?!'_

_'I don't have friends, I've only got one'_

_'Take my hand'_

_'...Goodbye, John'_

John pulls at his hair, angry, wanting to scream and yell and punch Sherlock in the face. Tears well up in his eyes and he can't stop them this time, just like he couldn't stop Sherlock.

He starts when Molly touches his shoulder. She kneels down, trying to look him in the eyes, her hand - more shaky than the last time - unfolding, holding Sherlock's scarf up to him.

"Thank you." He mumbles when he can compose himself enough, taking it from her. It's stained with blood on the end, and wrinkled slightly. He smooths it out, taking the edge of his jumper sleeve and trying to wipe away the blood.

Molly quietly leaves him to it.

He stays in the hospital that night, Sherlock's scarf tucked to his chest, falling asleep to the stars visible to the room's wide windows. He thinks someone comes to see him, but he's too drained to open his eyes and look.

\--

"How is he?" Sherlock asks when Molly reenters the room. Her eyes are red like she's been more upset than he asked her to act. She's wiping tears away.

"He's devastated. He talked about how you will be in his nightmares." She says, "He wanted to see you, but I said no... then he asked for your scarf, probably to hold onto you some way."

She moves to the body they've used, the one with Sherlock's face. She starts to remove the scarf the double is wearing but Sherlock shakes his head, "No, not that one." He takes his own from the back of his chair, smoothing it out, "He wants mine."

Molly sighs shakily as he passes it over to her. She goes to leave the room but he stops her, "Wait."

He grabs the vial of fake blood from the table, walking over and holding it over his scarf. He squeezes some onto it, wiping his hand on the edge of the garment to smear it in.

He tells her when she's at the door, shoulders shaking from small, silent sobs as she imagines John's broken face, "You're doing well, Molly. Thank you."

She silently leaves, clutching his scarf.

When the hospital is just about empty, lights off in the hallway and cameras pointing the opposite direction of where he wants to go, he slips into John's room. He's laying on his side, facing toward the window. He looks restless and Sherlock's chest feels heavy, constricted. He clenches his jaw and moves around the bed, setting a hand on his shoulder. John curls in on himself a little bit more, holding his folded arms closer to himself, Sherlock's scarf settled there. It makes the corner of Sherlock's mouth twitch up for just a moment.

He takes the blanket from the end of the bed and drapes it over John's body. He looks out of the window as he sets a hand over John's, feeling... Not okay.

"I am sorry," He whispers, "But I did it for you..." He kneels down next to the bed as someone walks by the room. He tucks the fake blooded end of the scarf down, watching John look as if he's having a nightmare, "I'm proud to trust you with my secret, because I know you will continue to hold it close."

He fixes the scarf from the body around his neck and leaves silently.


End file.
